Haugstad, Kingdom of Divinium, Eastern region of Rohana Federation, 2045 S.C., 79th day
The seasons had turned, and with them, the rhythms of Haugstad had adjusted to accommodate new realities.
Agnus sat on the porch of his home, his cane propped against the chair beside him. The morning air carried the last bite of Helmond's chill, though the sun was beginning to win its battle against the cold. Patches of snow still clung to the shadows beneath the eaves, but the paths were clear as it was slowly melting. A cycle ago, he would have been out checking if fences needed to be repaired, preparing the tools for the coming planting season. Now, he watched as younger men did the work his body could no longer manage.
The door opened behind him, and Heron emerged carrying two cups of hot tea. The boy had grown another few inches over the past star-cycle. His shoulders were broader now, as he had been actively doing more physical chores.
"Mama says you shouldn't sit outside so long," Heron said, handing one cup to Agnus. "Says the cold will make your leg ache worse."
Agnus took the cup, wrapping his hands around its warmth. "Your mother worries too much."
"Because you don't worry enough." Heron settled onto the porch step, his back against the post. "You were trying to split wood yesterday."
"I made it through three logs," Agnus replied.
"And then, I couldn't walk properly the rest of the day." There was no reproach in Heron's voice; he just stated the obvious. "Papa, you don't have to prove anything. Everyone knows what you did."
"I am not," Agnus said. "But it doesn't mean I should try to get better. No one wants the burden of a crippled man."
"That is not true." Heron's voice was thick. "You're my father. That hasn't changed."
"Thank you," Agnus replied with a teary voice. "Now, help an old cripple inside before your mother decides we've both had too much sun."
Heron laughed despite himself, rising to offer his arm. Agnus took it, leveraging himself upright with a grunt. The cane took his weight on the right side, Heron's steady presence on the left.
As they made their slow way inside, Agnus found himself grateful despite all that had happened. His son is growing into a good man. His wife remained beside him, despite everything. And that gave him hope that things might get better, even his health.
Inside, Martina was at the hearth, stirring something in a pot that filled the house with the smell of root vegetables and herbs. She looked up as they entered, and her expression softened when she saw Agnus leaning on Heron.
"I told you not to stay out too long," she said, but there was no real scolding in it.
"I know, I know," Agnus said, making his way to his chair by the table. "Your son already lectured me."
"Good. Someone has to." Martina wiped her hands on her apron. "Heron, can you check if there's enough firewood? We're running low, and I want to make sure we have enough for tonight."
Heron nodded and moved toward the wooden box near the door. It was nearly empty.
"There are only a few small pieces. I'll split some more," he said, reaching for his coat.
"Let me help," came a voice from the doorway.
All three of them turned. Haran stood at the threshold, a canvas sack slung over his shoulder.
"Haran," Martina said, surprised with a bit of pleasure mingling in her voice. "We weren't expecting you for another week."
"Finished my patrol route early," Haran replied, stepping inside and setting the sack down. "Brought some supplies from Jamtara. Grain, dried meat, a few other things."
"You didn't have to," Agnus said.
"I know." Haran's tone was easy. Over the past year, these visits had become routine enough that the initial awkwardness had worn away. "But I did anyway." He turned to Heron. "You said something about firewood?"
Heron glanced at his parents, then back at Haran. "The pile behind the house needs splitting. But I can do it myself. You don't need to help, you just arrived."
"I've been sitting on a motorcycle for three hours. I could use the movement." Haran gestured toward the door.
They went outside together, their breath misting in the cool air. The woodpile sat behind the house, protected from the worst of the weather by an overhang. Heron retrieved the axe from where it leaned against the wall and handed it to Haran.
"How's your father really doing?" Haran asked as he positioned the first log on the chopping block.
Heron was quiet for a moment. "Some days are better than others. He pushes himself too hard, tries to do things he used to be able to do without thinking." He picked up the split pieces as Haran worked. "It frustrates him. Not being able to provide like he used to."
"That's understandable." Haran set another log and chopped it down with ease. The wood split cleanly. "But he's alive. That counts for something."
"I know. We all know." Heron stacked the split wood. "It's just... hard sometimes. Watching him struggle with things that should be simple."
Haran paused, the axe resting against the block. "When I first realized what the crystals in my body were doing to me, the voices, the loss of control, I felt the same way. I was afraid that I wouldn't ever be able to get past it."
Heron looked at him.
"What did you do?" the boy asked.
"I accepted that I'd changed. That the person I was before the experiment was gone, and I had to figure out who I was now." Haran picked up the axe again. "It wasn't easy. But denying it or running away doesn't help. You need to address the problems, and only then can you move forward from where you are."
"Is that what Papa should do? Just accept it?"
"I think your father already has, in his own way. He's the one still trying to find what he can do." Haran split another log. "The question is whether he'll let himself grieve what he's lost before he does."
They worked in companionable silence for a while, the rhythm of the axe and the stacking of wood creating its own pattern. The pile grew steadily.
"Can I ask you something?" Heron said eventually.
"Of course."
"Do you think the villages will ever accept crystal technology? Like the cities do?"
Haran considered this carefully as he positioned another log. "I don't know. Maybe. But it would take time. Generations, probably." He brought the axe down. "The cities grew up with it. Children there learn about crystals the way you learn about crops and seasons. It's just part of life."
"But here it's forbidden."
"Not forbidden exactly. Just... avoided. Because of stories like what happened to Grampa Adel's father." Haran split another piece. "When something goes wrong and there's no one around who understands it, who can help. That is what creates fear. And fear gets passed down."
"Is that why you wanted me to stay here? Because the village is safer?"
Haran paused, the question hitting harder than expected. "Partly. But also because I wasn't safe. What was in my body… that's different from the tools the cities use. It's more dangerous. More unpredictable."
"Not strictly forbidden. A long time ago, villagers witnessed the consequences of misusing crystals and decided they would never use them again. And that vow was passed down for generations." Haran split another piece. "Now, even if they would want to try, if something goes wrong and there's no one around who understands it, who can help. And so fear remains, and it gets passed down again."